The Paths We Tread

Chapter 7:

Dust Thou Art

The Ministry of Magic

London, England

August 14, 1996

Christ, but he was tired.

Reg scrubbed his hand over his face as he squeezed his eyes shut. He stood in the hallway before the elevator banks, the parchment holding his latest assignment crumpled in one hand.

It might not have taken him three tries if he'd been able to bloody sleep lately.

But no. He sighed, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose, opening his eyes slowly. He was sleeping – quite a lot, actually – it just didn't feel like it. Maybe he needed a new pillow, or a new mattress.

But mattresses were expensive, so maybe he'd just double up on the coffee for a bit.

Reg nodded to himself. His mind made up, he straightened, raising his wand and turning to fully face the elevators. This time, he was able to cast the complicated charm in one go. His chest puffed out with pride. The charm was labelled as a protection charm in his assignment – hadn't he basically helped to save people?

The now-familiar green glow seeped through the elevator bars, then faded away, and Reg turned on his heel and headed back to his desk, whistling as he went.

Moody's Hideout

Unst, Shetland Islands

Scotland

"Again!" Moody barked, and Ron let out a tired groan. With a muttered swear, he dropped to his knees on the ground, then stretched his arms and legs out, weight resting on his palms and the tips of his toes. He lowered slowly to the ground, then pushed back up, his arms burning. In the back of his mind, he heard a quiet, high voice begging him to please let go, and he felt bile rising in his throat.

"I can't hear you!" Moody growled, and Ron muttered more viciously under his breath.

"One two hundred, two two hundred, three," he counted off as he continued the push-ups, sweat dripping down into his eyes.

Moody grunted his approval and sat down on the edge of a nearby picnic table, pulling his flask from his pocket.

Ron was pretty sure his arms were going to turn to rubber any moment. He'd been out there in the field for what felt like days, moving the entire time. Since Moody had dragged him there at the crack of dawn the day before, he had been put through a veritable boot camp, running laps, rowing a weighted down boat through a pond, push-ups, target drills…

If Moody ever got tired of wizarding England, he was fairly certain the man had a promising future as a tyrant ahead of him.

Christ, he was tired.

I'll do anything! the shrill voice echoed, and the image of a bloodied wrist, pale and delicate, flashed before his eyes.

His push-ups came to a halt as he counted to fifty, two hundred, and Moody slashed his hand in front of Ron's eyes, signaling him to stand. Ron shot to his feet on shaky legs, scowling slightly as Moody gave him an assessing look.

Moody's grizzled face twisted in an almost-grin. "Better," the ex-Auror breathed. "Next session, you should be able to make three hundred without embarrassing me."

A breeze kicked up around them, and Ron let out a sigh of relief. "Is it time to turn back yet, sir?" he asked curiously.

"No," Moody replied shortly. "Merlin, kid, sit down before you fall down." The Auror shoved the bench back with his foot, and Ron obediently moved across the field to all but collapse on the picnic table. Moody chuckled lightly as Ron slumped against the side, shaking his head.

"You did well," the ex-Auror said quietly, "your balance and stamina are improving, and so is your aim. Your focus needs work, though, kid."

Ron barely managed to hold back a glare as the pleading continued in his mind. He'd like to see anyone concentrate through –

"You forget," Moody added, his fake eye swinging suddenly to stare at Ron, and the youngest Weasley son swallowed. "I know what is in your head, boy. I may not be able to see it like I did it, but I'm the one who brought Evan Rosier in. I'm the one who killed him when he broke free. And nine times out of ten, I'm the one who was standing over the bodies he left behind."

The screaming quieted in his mind, a soft whisper now, and Ron swallowed harshly again as he met Moody's eyes. The Auror's usually dark face was softened, his real eye looking solemn and pitying. Ron didn't say a word, just looked down at the top of the table.

"Rosier was as sadistic as they come," Moody murmured as a bee buzzed by them in the field. Ron turned his gaze to follow the insect, focusing on the buzzing sound it gave off, desperately trying to give himself something else to think about. Moody huffed behind him. "Dolohov is the only one who comes close, but he gets bored easily. Rosier, though, he could linger over someone for – "

"I know," Ron said shortly, swinging back to look at Moody angrily, and he felt a flash of regret as the Auror jumped slightly at something in his eyes.

"Aye," Moody agreed slowly, "you do."

The pair fell silent, and Ron turned back to watch the bee again. It had crossed beyond their bench and was hovering by a flower bush nearby, happily buzzing away at the flower.

Ron closed his eyes again, and he started as he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder.

"My family, we've always fought," Moody told him. "My parents were Aurors, and my father's parents before them, and their parents before them. We have stories of fighting the Roman incursion at Hadrian's Wall, all the way back to the first Moody standing by the side of Gryffindor's grand-nephew. We've always fought the darkness, and we always will."

The man closed his real eye, then opened it and spun to fix his gaze on Ron again. "The thing about fighting a war, son, is sometimes you lose a battle. You never stop fighting, but you can't win everything. Sometimes, the darkness wins." Moody's gaze grew more urgent, and Ron drew in a shaky breath. "You have to learn to close it out, son. If you dwell on that darkness, you'll go mad."

Ron rubbed a shaking hand across his eyes, then turned away a moment before spinning back to Moody. "You found them?" he asked thickly. "Found them the way he – "

"Aye," Moody agreed. He lifted his flask, taking another sip. "The first time, I didn't sleep for three days. And I wasn't a damn rookie," he added bitterly. Without turning, Moody held the flask out towards Ron, and Ron hesitated a moment before taking the tin. He tipped the container to his mouth, managing to hold back a cough as the burning Firewhiskey hit his throat.

"How do you forget?" Ron asked. "How do you look at a woman at all? I – the other day, in training, I accidentally bruised Sue's wrist, and I wanted to kill myself." He swallowed harshly, closing his eyes. "It was an accident, she was supposed to twist out of my grip, it was what we were practicing, but she didn't... and I hurt her, and she laughed." He swallowed again, shaking his head and taking another pull from the flask.

For long moments, the only sound was the bee. Ron set the flask down on the tabletop, rubbing his hands across his face again. The silence from Moody was almost suffocating, and he was terrified to look up – he didn't want to see the disgust, the pity, the anger in the older man's eyes.

He felt a gnarled hand squeeze his shoulder again, and he glanced up instinctively. Moody was looking at him with eyes that held no disgust, no pity, no anger… only shadows. The ex-Auror smiled at him sadly. "You don't ever forget," he said quietly. "You just learn how to stop thinking about it all the time." The man cleared his throat, coughing sharply. "Why don't you go ahead and turn back after all?" he suggested. "We've done enough to be getting on with for now. Get some rest."

Ron nodded slowly, rising to his feet as he pulled the small jeweled hourglass from the chain around his neck.

It was August 14, and the day was drawing to a close as the sun began to sink over the horizon. Ron spun the small device in his fingers eight times over, then let out another shaky breath and stepped back, moving quickly across to the cottage. He watched as Moody did the same and slunk off into his room. Ron let out a heavy sigh and paused in the doorway.

Another Ron came over the hill nearby from the pond, another Moody clunking along after him. He sank back into the shadows of the house to avoid being seen, then crossed the living room quickly to the room Moody had given him.

It was the end of the day on August 14, just gone eight pm. He had lived through no less than seventy-two hours at Moody's hide-out in the past day.

The ex-Auror's training methods were a bit extreme, Ron thought, but he was fairly certain the man hadn't gone to these lengths to train his Auror cadets. Moody had shown up at the Burrow and dragged Ron out of bed that Tuesday morning, spiriting the teen off on a carriage ride, then the summer Express, then a horseback trek through the Scottish wilds, then three separate Muggle ferry boats. Finally, after all that, they arrived on an island which, Moody told him, was his home. They had walked a five mile hike after that before reaching what seemed to be Moody's pride and joy, an old Muggle convertible that was stashed in a rickety looking garage in the woods. Another thirty minutes driving, and they were at a heavily warded field, with a picturesque little pond and a charming little cottage as the only things in sight for miles around.

Ron was pretty sure the man liked the place so much because you could see for ages in every direction, but then, he was a paranoid old bugger for a reason.

Moody had shown him to a room to settle in, then taken him to the field not an hour later, and immediately set Ron on an obstacle course the likes of which he had never seen. When Ron felt like he was going to die, his lungs burning and his eyes stinging from the salt of dripping sweat, Moody slapped the Time Turner around his neck, spun the thing back, then told Ron to go get some rest in his new room. Ron had stared at the man, but obeyed, too exhausted to protest.

What Moody had intended as six to eight hours of rest turned out to be only three, thanks to Ron's mind, but that was rather not the point.

So Ron had gotten up and wandered through the cottage, exploring the huge library, the small dueling room, the multiple locked doors he couldn't seem to open… and finally, at hour seven after he'd been turned back, Moody stomped into the room and led him to the kitchen, then outside after a quick meal.

And they began again.

Moody apparently planned to keep him there for a week in the real world, then send him back home. That would be, if they kept up this pace, three weeks of intensive, round-the-clock training.

And three days into the strange time warp, and Ron could feel himself getting stronger.

But sleep just wasn't going to happen right then, so Ron let out a sigh and stalked off into the library, settling down heavily in a straight-backed wooden chair. He rubbed his hand over his face tiredly, then pulled the nearest open book towards him. The title glowed gold in the darkness, Defensive Rituals standing out in stark relief against the black leather cover. He lit a lamp and stretched, then turned his attention to the book.

By the time he went home to his family, Harry and Hermione, he would have something to contribute.

The Rookery

Ottery St. Catchpole

Devon, England

August 15, 1996

"Bloody hell," Neville muttered, rubbing a hand across his face. "Think we're out here early enough?"

Hermione shrugged lightly, shooting him a grin. "Hard to train them to fight in darkness during the day," she replied, stifling a yawn. Harry and Ginny appeared behind them, a tray floating along filled with teacups and sugar bowls, and Neville let out a relieved sigh. He helped himself to a cup in the cool night air, furrowing his brow and shaking his head as he did.

"We could have cast a spell," he gripped, and Ginny laughed.

"We all have to be able to keep useful and think clearly when we're exhausted," Harry pointed out simply, looking out over the field. The separate DA teams were scattered across the property in groups of three to five, Lupin, Charlie, Tonks, Shack and Krum moving stealthily between them and trying to catch the groups off-guard. The Hufflepuff contingent was doing the best, Neville noticed, watching with interest as Hannah Abbott managed to block three spells in a row shot at her team by Lupin. She didn't seem affected at all by the early hour – in fact, from what little Neville could see of her face, she seemed wide awake.

Better than him, he thought as he let out another jaw-cracking yawn.

Honestly, two am was too early to be doing anything. The sun wouldn't even be up for another four hours.

"Well, they are definitely trying, I'll give them that," Ginny said firmly, and Luna let out a quiet sound of agreement.

Neville shook his head to clear it, then sighed as the quiet murmurings of his friends washed over him. He could stand out here and moan internally, or he could be helpful. Gulping down the rest of his tea, he set the empty cup on the floating tray and slipped his wand from its holster.

Harry nodded, eyes narrowed as he stared across the field. "See if you can trip her up," he said quietly, eyes on Hannah. "It's a good chance for a demonstration."

Neville didn't reply, just moved across the field.

The Rookery was a strange piece of land, much like its owner. Weeks of visiting Luna here for hours or days had left him familiar with the landscape, but it was still rather treacherous to navigate even in daylight. With the slopes and sudden drops, the shrubbery that moved when it felt like it, the trees that would suddenly pop up out of nowhere – the place was a botanist's dream, but a tactician's nightmare.

Which, he reflected, made it a perfect place to train unseasoned fighters – themselves included.

He slipped carefully past a small copse of trees, swallowing when he heard a creaking sound coming from the upper branches. You've fought DeathEaters, Longbottom, get it together, he thought harshly, and he set his jaw. A few feet ahead, he could see Hannah and Sue standing back to back, Ernie and Justin right behind them. Hannah was deflecting spells being shot their way by Lupin, Sue holding a shield spell over the group of four. As he watched, a soft blue light hit the edge of the shield and spread, and the light flickered across the grounds, bathing everyone in a dim glow. Neville grinned, nodding at Sue and Hannah in respect even though they couldn't yet see him. That one was a hard counter. They were making brilliant progress.

He crouched down, disillusioning himself and moving carefully across the grass. Six feet away from the small group, he knelt and pressed his wand to the ground, whispering softly. The dirt began to vibrate, grass blades dancing, and a soft wind kicked up around them. He shivered as he felt the warming in his blood, heard the shrill singing of the plants in his mind. The vibrating underground spread, and inside Sue's dome shield, the ground split beneath her as roots sprang up out of the ground and wrapped around first Sue's legs, then Hannah's, before spreading and trapping the boys. Sue let out a shriek as the roots dug harshly into her legs, knocking her to the ground. The shield vanished.

He stood straight and walked over to the pair as Lupin stepped back, sheathing his wand and looking at Neville with a slight grin. Across the field, Neville could see Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Luna coming over to join them, and everybody around them had frozen, staring at the scene.

Neville looked over the plants with a slight smile. A wiggintree had apparently been taking root beneath the grounds, and now it was at least a year ahead of schedule in its growth. He pressed a hand gently to the nearest root, feeling the tree's energy thrumming through it. Another whisper, and the roots retreated from the group, slowly uncurling from around their legs.

Hannah was glaring at him balefully when he turned, and Lupin chuckled lightly under his breath before moving forward to help the girl up. "What did you miss?" Neville asked quietly, and Justin and Ernie just stared at him. Hannah and Sue looked at him, then each other. The two girls stared at each other for a long moment, seeming to communicate silently, before Sue finally shrugged. Hannah nodded, and Sue turned to face Neville.

"Are there shields that can cover the ground, too?" she asked, and Luna hummed in approval. The Hufflepuff witch grinned, her eyes sparkling in the darkness.

Off to his right, Neville saw Harry out of the corner of his eye. His friend was frowning at something, his jaw clenching, and he moved off closer toward the woods. Krum was watching him too, Neville saw, and he jerked his head in the direction Harry had went, raising an eyebrow. The Bulgarian scowled lightly – his default expression, Neville had realized after a couple weeks – and followed.

Whatever had pulled Harry in the direction of the woods, it probably wasn't good, Neville thought worriedly.

"We don't know everything, remember," Hermione said quietly, and a few of the gathered students laughed. Hermione paused, grinning ruefully – it was odd to hear her admit that. Neville shot the girl a grin and she smiled back. "Any one of you can discover helpful spells, or strategies, and share with the rest of us. That said," she grinned again, her eyes sparkling wickedly, "we do know one or two that would work for that situation. Professor Lupin will demonstrate, and we'll help you to get it down."

Lupin shot Hermione a look – he had been trying to get her to call him Remus all summer – and Hermione just shrugged, smiling at him innocently. She moved forward and stood next to Lupin, helping him demonstrate, and Neville turned them all out. Teaching new spells wasn't his forte, and he was content to fade back into the background.

As their voices washed over him, he knelt back to the ground, studying the plant intently. Elemental magic had been in his family for generations, and Neville had just recently begun to learn the beauty of the art. Oh, it wasn't the dramatic, nature-altering stuff that American and Chinese witches and wizards seemed to brag about. No, it was about harmony, about tapping into the natural rhythm that already existed. Neville didn't think he'd ever been more proud than the moment he had first helped to bring a withering rosebush back from the brink.

It was Professor Sprout who had pointed out that his gift in Herbology was partly from him unconsciously using latent elemental magic to interact with the plants. She had compared it to giving them superfood, and a perfect environment. It wouldn't create things that nature didn't already offer, she cautioned, or make him more powerful or unbeatable, but if he would learn to tap into it, he could do amazing things.

On the heels of the misadventure in the Department of Mysteries, where Neville had felt worse than useless, it was exactly the balm he needed. And having Professor Sprout hand him his mother's journal had made it even better.

He sighed lightly as he watched Hermione moving through the groups of students, Luna just a step behind her and Ginny off across the field with Remus, Seamus, and a few others. Hermione had conjured her trademark bluebell flames, the small glass jars floating in the air around the field, the darkness lightened slightly. He watched the shadows play across her face, saw the slight tightness around her eyes, and frowned.

Elemental magic was all about energy, and Neville was more in tune with the energy around him than ever before. And the more he learned, the more he recognized the energy he used to feel without realizing it.

Something was seriously off with Hermione's natural energy. It had been for weeks. He was worried about the vivacious, brilliant girl.

At her shoulder, Luna was staring off dreamily into space – but as Neville watched, her gaze met his and sharpened. She nodded once, jerkily, and Neville set his jaw and nodded back.

It was beyond time they got to the bottom of whatever was harming their friend.

Harry stood in the darkness, his eyes narrowed as he gazed out over the forest. The air was chill in the early morning, a slight breeze rustling through the trees. He listened carefully for any sound of footsteps or movement, feeling a strange disquiet when he was met with only silence.

He'd been to the Rookery often enough by now. He knew these woods were teeming with creatures – and it was silent.

At his shoulder, Viktor seemed just as bothered. "Too quiet," the Quidditch star grunted, and Harry nodded, his eyes still moving quickly over their surroundings. Without replying, he drew his wand and moved carefully into the tree-line, his steps slow and cautious. By unspoken agreement, they stayed in darkness, neither of them conjuring a light or a flame. They moved past fallen tree trunks, thorny shrubs, and large rock outcropping in silence.

A bit ahead, there was a bubbling stream, and the sound of running water cut through the silence. Harry moved towards the stream, his jaw clenched as they passed further into the forest. The only sound, still, aside from the movement of the stream, was the crunching of leaves under their feet.

Something was not right.

Then he reached the clearing ahead and stopped in his tracks. Viktor was swearing roughly at his side as a small, glowing moth flitted into the clearing and landed on Harry's shoulder. The moth buzzed in his ear, and Harry felt hate beginning to grow inside.

The light was beginning to fade from their bodies, but the once-majestic creatures still glowed in the darkness. They were arranged in a circle, legs splayed out and touching. Each one had its throat cut, its eyes wide and unseeing, and the horns were brutally carved from their heads. Harry moved forward into the clearing, kneeling next to a small golden foal that was nestled against its mother's side, its head turned and pressed against her flank. He put a hand gently on the foal's back, hoping against hope to feel a breath.

But… nothing.

Harry bowed his head, tears leaking from his eyes as he sat in the center of the circle. Behind him, he heard a rustling sound, and a brilliant white light filled the clearing as Viktor shot off two Patroni. Soon, careful footsteps sounded behind them, and Harry felt Ginny take his arm, crouching beside him and watching him with worried brown eyes.

Harry shook himself, letting out a weary sigh, and gave Ginny a bracing smile. He shouldn't have been surprised – he was used to the depravity that Voldemort and his followers lived by.

So he squared his shoulders, pushed to his feet, and sheathed his wand, looking out over the darkness.

Charlie stood at the edge of the clearing, Fred next to him, and the usually boisterous pair were unnaturally solemn. "I'll gather some of the Order to help with burial," Fred said quietly, his blue eyes burning with rage, and Harry nodded. He turned away, looking out over the forest.

"Is your mum home alone?" he asked suddenly, and he felt Ginny's hand tighten on his arm. The girl hadn't moved, still crouching next to the foal.

"Did you see – ?" the red-headed girl asked hoarsely, her voice trailing off, and Harry shook his head.

"I haven't had a vision since the beginning of summer," he replied simply. "But they were this close, and the bodies are still warm. We should at least make sure."

Charlie nodded thoughtfully, and Fred scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Percy left and went back to his flat with that new bird of his," he said quietly, "I think Dad was working tonight..."

Harry glanced at Charlie, and the other wizard shook his head with a scowl.

"What about the Diggorys? Do they still live nearby?" he asked, and Ginny bit her lip, nodding.

"Alright," Harry said with another tired sigh. He moved back from the gruesome scene, flinching slightly inside as his boots left silvery footprints on the ground. "Bill isn't going to be back for another day at least, so who is best at wards of the people we can get? We need to tighten everything up here."

"They didn't approach us," Charlie pointed out, "I'd say that means Bill's handiwork is holding up just fine."

"Nothing wrong with a check," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow at the older wizard. "If he were here, he'd insist on it."

Fred nodded, face even paler than normal as he looked down at the ring of unicorns. "I don't think we can reach Moody yet – his house is impossible – but Shack and Lupin are both good enough to double-check for holes, at least. Charlie and I will check the Diggory's place after we alert them."

"Which leaves us to go check on Mum," Ginny said softly, her brown eyes flashing. She reached forward and gently shut the eyes of the nearest baby unicorn, murmuring something under her breath, and Harry held out his hand to pull her to her feet. The girl turned on her heel, her red hair swinging madly as she moved quickly into the woods, and Harry and Viktor exchanged a worried glance, and followed.

Harry was tired of having to see death.

Behind him, the gold moth fluttered off in the direction of the Rookery, buzzing to itself all the while.

The sun was just starting to break over the horizon, and Hermione was already exhausted. She stood at the edge of the woods by herself, eyes narrowed for Tonks. She loved Dora, she really did, and she was so grateful to the woman – but she was taking the protectiveness a bit far lately. Honestly, keeping up with her sleeping habits? Sitting in on her medical sessions with Snape?

Heavens forbid she yawn in front of the woman – she might end up locked in her room. So for the time, it was best that she was on her own.

She leaned against an old, gnarled tree, watching as the small group of DA students wandered across the grounds, speaking with each other softly. They had done well that day, all of them putting every ounce of energy into the spells and tactics they were practicing. It was alarming to see how hardened they were becoming. Colin Creevey was no exception. The usually spastic, too-chipper boy was now silent and brooding. Hermione had noticed Hannah, Sue, and Dennis shooting him worried looks more than once.

She made a mental no0te to talk to Sue about him. Maybe it would be worth looking into some sort of therapist for the group – surely the wizarding world had such a thing?

Although… maybe not, she thought darkly. If they did, wouldn't someone have made Harry go by now? With everything her best friend had been through, if anyone needed the chance to heal from trauma –

Not that her other best friend didn't have his share now, too. She sighed darkly as she thought of Ron and the last time they had all slept at Bill's place. The group had woken to Ron's bitter laugh about five hours into the night, and when Neville had successfully shaken him awake, Ron had refused to meet any of their eyes for hours. Nor had he even tried to go back to sleep, instead disappearing down to the shoreline with Harry.

Seeing her often silly, often foolish friend so solemn and shaken was rather traumatic in and of itself, really. How awful must it be for him?

She wondered how he was doing, out in the wilderness with Moody, doing God only knew what.

And, she realized with a frown, Harry. They had been gone for hours, and although Charlie and Fred had returned, Harry, Ginny, and Viktor hadn't.

Maybe she should –

Someone cleared their throat, and Hermione shook herself with a slight frown. She looked up to see Seamus standing in front of her, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. The sandy-haired boy could usually be found with a rakish grin on his face, blowing things up or stirring up trouble in one way or another, but at that moment, he looked rather worried.

"What is it, Seamus?" she asked gently, and the Irishman bit his lip and stared at the ground, flushing slightly.

"It's Dean," he said after a moment, his voice breaking on the name. "He and his mum were supposed to be back from holiday days ago, and he never sent me a message." He looked up, his hazel eyes solemn and determined. "He would have told me if they had changed their plans, Hermione. He would have told me."

A million scenarios flashed through her mind, but Hermione let out a steady breath, closing her eyes then opening them again quickly. "Okay," she said quietly. "Okay." She glanced around them for a moment, taking stock. Down by the pathway, she could see Luna standing next to Remus, the ex-Professor jabbing his wand forward as sparks flew in the air before him. Most of their classmates were scattered in groups of two and three around the grounds, but a short distance off, Sue and Hannah were watching them curiously, Hannah's mouth twisted in a slight grimace. She spun on her heel, jumping a foot in the air when she nearly elbowed Neville in the gut.

"Sorry," Neville murmured, grabbing her arms to steady her when she jumped back. She let out a shaky breath, trying to slow her suddenly racing heart, and shook her head, pulling herself from his grasp. Her arms burned where he had touched her, and Hermione swallowed back a gasp.

That's new, she thought angrily, trying to ignore the look of worry and hurt that flashed across Neville's features as she took another step back.

But her steady friend didn't say anything, just watched her searchingly for a moment, then asked softly, "What's wrong?"

"I was looking for you," she replied, shoving a lock of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. She watched as Neville's eyes seemed to latch on to the movement, and when she frowned, he just smiled at her and shook his head.

"It's Dean," Seamus cut in. "I think he's missing."

"Wasn't he on holiday?" Neville asked.

"They were apparently supposed to be back days ago," Hermione replied, and Seamus's face fell further.

"Yeah," the sandy-haired boy agreed. "And I haven't heard – " He broke off, scowling. Hermione felt a flash of pity for Seamus. This was exactly how she felt about Harry, every single summer before this year. That lingering dread.

"Well," Neville mused, "he definitely would have told you if he changed plans." He glanced at Hermione, his brow furrowed. "Did he ever reply to your owl?"

She shook her head. There were a million different things that could have happened, she knew. They could have had an accident on holiday, and the authorities hadn't notified anyone yet. They could have sent an owl that had gotten lost. They could have…

But Death Eaters had gone after Hannah, after the Patils and the Creevy family and the Corners.

She met Neville's eyes and saw the flash of fear, and the stocky boy nodded sharply. "Right, then," he said evenly, "We should probably go, since we don't want to pull Shack, Tonks and Lupin away and leave the other students without any defense."

"Agreed," Hermione murmured, drawing her wand carefully from its holster. She wrapped one hand around her communication pendant and thought carefully at Luna, smiling as the girl's airy voice sounded an acknowledgement in her mind. She looked at Seamus, who looked startled but determined, and turned to walk to the property boundaries. Behind her, she heard Neville clap the other boy on the shoulder, and the pair followed her down the hill.

God, did she hope they didn't find – She sighed, shook her head, and turned to face Seamus and Neville.

Karmas

Alexandria Governate

Egypt

"Christ," Bill muttered tiredly as he pushed through the beaded doorway, rubbing a hand across his face. "Did you make this hard enough to find?"

The olive-skinned man looked up at him from the prayer mat, a sour expression twisting his face. "No," he replied, shaking his head. "It didn't take you long, did it?"

Bill didn't respond. Standing in the doorway, he looked around the small barren tent. Aside from the mat, only a rickety cot stood against the furthest wall. "You said it was urgent."

Ignoring him, the smaller wizard climbed to his feet and moved to the tent entrance. Bill sighed wearily as he was shoved aside and Louis peered out the entrance, muttering to himself. "Were you followed?" Louis demanded shrilly, and Bill shook his head. Louis scoffed and disappeared out of the tent, his wand in hand.

"Lou, I took care of it already," Bill protested, following his shorter partner back into the sweltering heat.

Louis was standing in the dunes, his eyes narrowed. "Everyone says, Bill Weasley, so easy-going," he muttered, scoffing again, and Bill just looked at him steadily. "Do any of them realize how much you hate to be questioned?"

Bill bit back a retort, taking pains to keep his arms hanging loosely at his sides. Louis was a great friend and an even greater archaeologist, and he had been an irreplaceable partner through many a dig. But when he got in one of his moods, there was no reasoning with him.

So Lou tested defense after defense, and Bill watched quietly as the wards around them shimmered with a light green, then purple, then blue, before finally settling in an alarming shade that reminded him of places he'd rather forget. Louis turned back to him, sheathing his wand and nodding once, before striding dramatically back into the tent.

Bill rolled his eyes and followed.

"Now that we know we are alone," Louis said sharply, "come." He tapped his wand against the cot, and it shimmered and disappeared, a solid wooden door appearing behind it. The door was surrounded by glowing Phoenician runes, and Bill paused in the doorway, his eyes narrowed as he studied the glyphs. The message was incredible, a set of characters together arcing out in a spell he'd never seen…

"Lou," he asked slowly, "how did you – "

Lou paused, looking over his shoulder. "I didn't," he said quietly. "I found it. Come."

So Bill stepped through the doorway and felt the wooden frame creak behind him as the room sealed shut.

Maybe I should stop opening doors I can't close, he thought wryly to himself as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He stood in a small space, dust particles flying through the air and insects skittering across the floor. As he watched, a scarab clambered along the floor, running fearlessly over his boot as it continued on its trek. He turned his head and followed the creatures path as it disappeared down a dark tunnel in the dirt walls. Skeletons littered the floor all around them, some clutching urns or pendants, some curled in on themselves like they had been trying to hide. To his right, the skeletal arms of a woman were wrapped around an infant's bones, forever embracing her child.

"Where are we?" he asked, taking pains to keep his voice steady. He and Louis had been doing this job for a long time, the both of them, but they had never walked into an unknown site without days of preparation at least. For Lou to rush in like this –

"Just come on," Louis replied quietly, "it isn't far."

Bill let out a shaky breath and drew his wand, his jaw set. This time, it was Lou who stood patiently as Bill ran every diagnostic he could think of, his sense of disquiet growing with every negative result.

They were in an abandoned chamber in the middle of the desert, which by the looks of it had been sealed for centuries, and there wasn't a single defensive spell to be found? Nor any non-magical defenses; no strange outlines under the dirt to suggest trapdoors or pits, no javelins hurtling at them from the walls…

But clearly, the people who had died there had suffered because of something.

He took another fortifying breath and moved forward, with each step hoping that he wouldn't suddenly burst into flames. Lou stood near the mouth of one of the tunnels, and every moment of training Bill had ever received told him not to go in there without backup –

Almost as though he could hear him, Louis suddenly grinned. "You have me," he said easily, his normal laissez-faire attitude shining through. "We'll be fine. We don't need a whole crew."

Tell that to Jess. Bill let out a sigh, gritted his teeth, and followed Lou into the tunnel.

Sorry, Harry, I'll be a few, he thought bitterly.

Thomas Household

London, England

Neville stepped through the Floo, eyes narrowed as he scanned the room. Behind him, he felt the air shift as Hermione appeared, then Seamus, and he stepped to the side without a word, allowing them to clear the hearth. A flick of his wand set a shield floating in the air around them, and he watched as Hermione drew a steady breath, raising her wand.

"Homenum Revelio," she whispered, then paused a moment. She bit her lip, glancing at him and shaking her head. Neville muttered darkly under his breath.

"No one is here," she said aloud for Seamus's benefit, and the Irishman seemed to almost droop.

"Should we – " he started, and his words trailed off as he swallowed harshly.

"Yeah," Neville agreed. "We'll check room by room." His eyes darted around the space and he felt dread building as he took in their surroundings,

"Seamus," Hermione said gently, and the sandy-haired boy looked at her hopefully, "you must know your way around here well. Why don't you go search Dean's room for any signs?"

The boy nodded jerkily and took off for the nearby stairwell, his steps heavy and leaden.

Neville stood perfectly still until the other boy was gone, then let out a shaky breath and lowered his shield. "Fuck," he breathed. Hermione shot him a disapproving look, then nodded.

"Rather empty in here," she agreed, and Neville moved further into the room, his eyes scanning the space for any signs of the people who lived there.

No one could ever accuse his Gran of being a sentimental person. She was strict, utilitarian, emotionless and just downright harsh a lot of the time. But even she had little mementos, trinkets scattered around the Lodge that showed pieces of herself, her family, their lives. This space – it was empty, barren, nothing but furniture.

That didn't fit with the boy Neville knew.

He went into the kitchen, Hermione right behind him, and found much the same. The cabinets had been emptied, the ice chest off, and only a bare kitchen table and chairs stood in the center of the room. No calendar on the wall, no photos, nothing sitting on the counter.

"This isn't right," Hermione murmured. "Even if his mum decided they were going to run – "

"He would have gotten a message out," Neville nodded, and they heard a clattering behind them as Seamus ran back down the stairs.

"Empty," he said, breathless, "everything is gone. Dean's West Ham posters, his mum's shoe collection – all of it. There's nothing but the furniture."

Hermione bit her lip, looking around the kitchen again. "Maybe they had to run in a hurry, Seamus," she said quietly. "Maybe – "

"Something's wrong, and you're just trying to keep me from panicking," the other boy said angrily, and Hermione nodded.

"So we have to find him," Seamus almost shouted at her, and Neville stepped forward, drawing the other boy's eyes. He could practically feel Hermione roll her eyes as he stepped in between them.

"We will," he said firmly.

Hermione raised her wand as Seamus stared at him, conjuring her silvery otter. "Dora, Shack, we need your help," she whispered to the glowing apparition. "Send everyone home. Luna, stay with Lupin and keep checking the defenses."

Seamus moved over to a kitchen chair and sat down heavily, his head in his hands.

The Broken Pub

North Berwick, The Firth of Forth

Scotland

Remus stood in the shadows, eyes narrowed as he watched the doors. At least a dozen people had passed into the pub in the last twenty minutes, and he'd seen at least one who bore the Mark.

Not to mention all the werewolves who had sauntered in wearing the leather jackets that labelled them as members of the Lockheed pack. The woman had always had a thing for biker gangs, he thought with bitter amusement. And apparently, she hadn't bothered to change her haunts in over fifteen years.

Wolves as a whole tended to be solitary creatures, but they would bond strongly to some, and when they did, it was near impossible to get them to turn aside. Werewolves were no different, Remus mused to himself as he took another drag off the cigarette, letting out a slow puff of smoke. And if Voldemort managed to turn the heads of any of the packs...

The destruction Greyback had wrought on his own was plenty. He closed his eyes as the image of mangled children rose up in his mind, balling his shaking hand in a fist at his side. Rage spiked in his veins and he opened his eyes quickly, letting out a slow, steadying breath as the amber faded from his irises.

Well. No reason to delay any longer.

He put out his cigarette, tossing it into the garbage bin nearby. Taking another steadying breath, he straightened his jacket and shook his head to clear it.

Merlin, he hated acting this way.

But all the wolves understood was dominance.

So he slammed the doors open, striding into the bar with a grim look on his face. As the wolves around him began to stand, growling and glaring, he cut a path through the room. The first wolf he passed grabbed his arm, and Remus spun sharply, his elbow shattering the young man's nose. Another moved towards him, and he shouldered the angry girl aside and went straight to the bar, grinning wickedly at the burly barkeep. With a surge of strength, he reached across and seized the larger man by the throat, dragging him across the counter and pinning him down with one hand. The wolves behind him surged to their feet, moving towards him quickly, and Remus turned his head slowly, his eyes glinting in the dim light and his teeth bared. He let out a warning growl and the wolves fell back, some of them still snarling, others watching him warily.

Turning back to the barkeep, who was scratching angrily at Remus's hand as he struggled for breath, Remus smiled genially. "I need to speak with Asena," he said calmly, and he felt the crowd at his back tense.

"Why, Remus, love," a honeyed voice sounded.

Suddenly, scraping chairs echoed through the room, and Remus cocked his head to see all of the wolves settling back into their chairs. He let go of the gasping barkeep roughly, spinning on his heel to look towards the kitchens entrance.

The black-haired beauty stood in the doorway, her amber eyes shining and a soft smile on her face. Asena Lockheed stepped towards him, her eyes fixed on Remus's face, and he forced himself to remain still.

"It's been a long time," she whispered.

Diagon Alley

London, England

August 16, 1996

The noise around him was deafening. People were stomping, shouting, clapping their feet all around, and the alley nearly shook under the force of their anger. This, he reflected darkly, might very well be the last place he wanted to be.

The message had come from Viktor not even half an hour before, and Harry hadn't hesitated. Hermione and Nev were still off with Tonks and Shacklebolt – they had returned to the cottage for a few moments the day before to fill him in, then left again – and Ron was still training God knew where with Moody. Harry was getting tired of the leash the Order had been trying to keep him on lately anyway, and so he hadn't bothered to tell any members.

The reality was that somehow, over the past several years, he had replaced Dumbledore as the poster boy for the Light side anyway. Who better than he to deal with this particular problem?

So he wove through the crowd in the alley as the sun began to sink on the horizon, Ginny and Luna to either side. The two girls had unnaturally grim expressions on their faces, Ginny's eyes scanning the crowd around them like a hawk, Luna seeming to – well, focus.

Harry didn't want to focus. He didn't like what he was seeing, couldn't stomach what he was hearing.

Someone moved to the side in front of him, and he elbowed quickly into the space, jostling people gently aside until he was able to reach the front of the crowd. He stood on the furthest left end of the ring around the platform, Ginny and Luna quickly sliding into the spots to either side of him again. Someone glared at Ginny and she shot him a poisonous look right back. The fiery girl's temper had burned red-hot since that morning – no matter that they had found her mother safe and sound. He smiled as he heard her mutter darkly to herself.

His smile disappeared when he turned to face the platform, and saw Ludo Bagman gesturing wildly.

"Is that not all he asked of us last time?" Bagman was yelling, and Harry scanned over the crowd, his eyes narrowed as he saw people nodding thoughtfully. He glanced at Ginny and she looked quickly his way, her eyes shadowed as a scowl grew on her face. Luna, on his left, was staring steadily at Bagman, not blinking. Her little glowing moth peeked out from behind her ear, nestled in her hair.

"Is that not all he demands now?" Bagman continued, and the crowd started to shout back, yells of "Yeah" and "that's right" echoing through the space. Harry drew a sharp breath. "If the Muggleborns are rooted out, and banished from our society, will we not have peace? I tell you now, if we fail to act, we deserve our suffering! Who among us hasn't lost family in these relentless wars? Who among us hasn't wished for an end?"

The yells grew louder.

"We are being given a chance, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, his voice rising, and Harry felt the air spike around them. Next to him, Ginny was practically vibrating with fury, and Luna's eyes were narrowed on the pompous blond before them. As they watched, Bagman lifted a scroll in the air, his eyes wild. "A chance for peace! All we have to do is send the Muggleborns home!"

The crowd grew louder still, and a huge grin split Bagman's face. Harry gritted his teeth and stepped forward, and Ginny reached out, grabbing his arm.

"Harry," she said urgently, and Harry shook his head, pulling his arm gently from her grip. He let out a steady breath then moved to the platform, and Ginny stepped back, watching him warily. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Luna scoot into the empty space he'd left behind, lacing one arm through Ginny's. The red-headed girl leaned her head on Luna's shoulder and swallowed.

Around them, the crowd fell eerily silent as Harry reached the edge of the platform. He walked up the steps with Bagman staring at him blankly, everyone else seemingly holding their breath. Harry walked across the platform unhurriedly, stopping when he stood directly before Bagman, looking the older man directly in the eye.

His eyes were oddly blank, Harry saw, and he felt a surge of pity. But he squashed it, shaking his head, and raising one hand, he took the scroll from Bagman's hands and tore it to ribbons. Without a word, he tossed the shredded parchment on the ground at Bagman's feet.

Silence echoed through the alley. Still Bagman stared at him.

"You're just a boy," the blond wizard said finally. "You could never hope to understand his power."

"I don't want to," Harry replied sharply. "I have no interest in being like old snakeface, thanks."

The entire crowd gasped, and Harry bit back a grin.

Bagman's face was contorted in a snarl, and he stepped forward, his fists clenched. "You will never defeat –"

Silencio, Harry thought, and the older man fell silent, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to scream. Harry turned away from the man, smiling softly as he felt a shield spring to life around him. Thanks, he thought towards his friends, and he turned fully to face the crowd, looking at the angry, shocked faces around him.

"Sonorous," he said quietly, his wand at his throat, then he took a deep breath and began. "Most of you don't know me," he said his voice ringing through the alley. "But I've been fighting for the safety of the Wizarding World since I first stepped into this alley at eleven years old, alone and afraid. A lot of people forget that I was raised a Muggle, that I didn't know I had any magic at all before Hagrid found me on my eleventh birthday and told me the truth."

As he looked out over the crowd, he saw a range of reactions – distrust, apathy, anger, fear, shame – but there wasn't nearly enough of the last. He felt the dread rising in his veins but he shook his head, continuing on.

"The Wizarding World has been an absolute miracle for me," he said, as quietly as he could when his voice was magically booming across the way. "It opened its arms to me and let me know that I wasn't alone, that I wasn't a freak, that there were others like me. I know what it's like to be hated for who you are, to be looked down on for what you can't control."

He took a deep breath, letting it out as he looked at the angriest group, in the center nearest the platform. "And I will never stand for casting people out just because of their birth. If we stoop to that level, Voldemort wins, people, and I will not let him win." The murmurs sprang up in the crowd again, and he watched as some people began to shift thoughtfully, listened as the angriest in the crowd began to shout again.

"Anyone who ever feels unsafe or unwelcome, anyone who thinks they have reason to fear," he continued, raising his voice over the crowd, "you will always have a place with me and my friends! We are fighting back, and we stand for you! We will always stand for you. And anyone who wants to help, you will be welcomed with the Order of the Phoenix and the Defense Association. We will never surrender!"

He turned on his heel and stepped down from the platform, ignoring Bagman, who was still trying to reach for him, ignoring the shouting men in the center, and walked down to his friends. Luna was watching him sadly, Ginny with a vicious grin, and the pair of them flanked him through the alley.

No one got in their way as they moved through the crowd, and no one spoke to them.

"So Bagman is a Death Eater now?" Ginny asked darkly, and Harry shook his head.

"That wasn't Ludo Bagman," Luna said softly, her voice full of sorrow. "Not anymore." She put one hand on Harry's shoulder, Ginny doing the same on his other side, and Harry cast a quick look around them before wrapping his hand around his dragon tooth pendant and muttering the Portkey activation.

Then they landed on the sand outside the Cottage, and everything went dark.

Shell Cottage

Tinworth, Cornwall

Bill let out a sigh of relief the moment his boots touched the sand. It was so quiet, so peaceful at his little cottage.

He reached quickly into his pocket, feeling for the small package and smiled when he found it still there.

He had made it.

The strange crypt that Louis had discovered had probably been one of his least favorite places to explore. The sense of disquiet that echoed through the place was unreal. They had found nothing to explain all the bodies in the entrance – or they thought it was the entrance, rather, how could they really know? But what they had found –

Really, he could almost kiss Louis.

It was the chance they needed, the next step to try to find a solution, and Bill felt like he could finally breathe for the first time in weeks.

Then he looked up at his house, and he felt his heart stop.

It was quiet, he realized – none of the humming of his wards and spells that should have greeted him. None of the small tendrils of magic glimmering in the air.

Everything was down.

He drew his wand and shot off a Patronus, then burst into a run. His boots slipped wildly on the sand and he vaulted over the dunes, hitting his porch with a loud thud. Without pausing to check for traps or curses, he slammed through his front door, skidding to a halt as he took in the scene in his living room.

There was Tonks, slumped in the corner, her eyes closed and her hand curled around her wand. On the couch opposite him sat Ginny, Hermione, Neville and Luna, all of them bound in ropes that seemed to crawl and writhe over them like snakes. On the floor in front of them was a long, braided golden rope, and Bill cursed himself when he saw it. The kids were silent, their eyes furious and their mouths drawn, and Ginny met his eyes steadily and nodded as he stared at her. They were unharmed.

He turned his head to the left and saw Klaus Brand sitting in his favorite armchair, the spellcrafter's feet propped up on his ottoman and a lazy smile on his face. He was peeling an apple with a small blade, whistling to himself. Beside him sat Harry, a stoic look on the boy's face, and a larger, sharper knife hovering at his throat, pressed against the skin. As Bill watched, the blade moved closer to Harry's throat, and a trickle of blood appeared.

He felt a searing pain at his own throat, and looked Harry in the eye. The black-haired teen was calm, but furious. Around him was a strange blue dome, a small crystal hovering in the air next to him – another thing Bill had lifted off of Brand's stash.

Brand licked the blade in his hand, humming to himself, then finally looked up. His smile widened, and his eyes sparkled.

"Billy!" he said jovially, as Bill heard the crack of Apparition outside. "I was beginning to think you'd never come home."

Ginny growled behind him, and Brand shot her a glare then turned immediately back to Bill. As he heard the front door bang open, and Charlie swear harshly behind him, Bill met Brand's eyes.

The spellcrafter set the apple down on the end table beside himself, then leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. Staring at Bill, he said with a strange earnestness, "We need to talk."

A/N: Reviews are like cheesecake! One of my favorite things. ~*~ALIBI